This morning I awoke to the smell of smoke and the sound of a window closing. Earlier this month a lightning strike started a Kenai Peninsula fire whose smoke has played peekaboo with us ever since.
Today the smolder was so pronounced that for a split second I thought something in the house was burning.
For a few hours I was captive in the house, due to my asthma. During that time I positioned myself close to the ceiling fan because it was Alaska-style hot, i.e., in the 70s.
Ultimately the wind started blowing from the north, which quickly de-smokefied our yard. DF took this as a sign that he should wash the new-to-us fitted sheet* he’d just gotten for $1.50 at his church’s thrift store: Relentless sun + strong breeze = a good wash day.
In midafternoon I spotted DF sitting on our back deck with some iced tea. Briefly debated starting on the next article, then said to heck with it and poured some tea of my own. There we sat in a couple of old chairs, sipping our drinks, looking out over our raised garden beds and listening to the tree music.
By “tree music,” I mean the whisper of the leaves on the white birch in our yard and our neighbor’s. These are tall, tall specimens with loads of leaves. Even though the gentle rustling had to compete with planes taking off (we live five minutes from the airport) and the snarl of a weed-whacker one block over, the music won out over the engines.
Tree magic
Neither of those other noises mattered. I enjoy the smell of freshly cut grass, and DF is a serious plane-spotter. After all, he grew up in a series of villages and small towns in Alaska, where planes are as important as the family automobile is in the rest of the country. (In some of those places he could have told you where a flight was going and the name of the pilot.)
Here, though, we’re mostly looking at Alaska Airlines jets and commuter planes plus the occasional float plane from two nearby lakes. (One of them, Lake Hood, is the world’s busiest seaplane base.)
Oh, and a steady stream of behemoth cargo carriers that struggle to gain altitude, like a heavily pregnant woman trying to push herself up a flight of stairs. All planes are wanted and needed, both here in Anchorage and in DF’s mind. It’s a particular treat when a DC-3 lumbers over, sounding like one of the planes in those old movies.
We watched the pea vines sway like ballet dancers stretching at the barre, and smiled when the wind hit the outdoor** tomato plants (no need to hand-pollinate those guys). The dark-wine leaves of the red romaine lettuce gleamed in the sun, and the strawberry bed below us was flecked with bright white blossoms.
Cold tea, warm sun***, birdsong, the occasional snap! of a sheet on the line, the rustling-paper sound of a dragonfly zooming too close to our heads – nothing fancy, but to us it was perfect.
Summer is so short here, and too often I find myself shackled to the laptop during the nicest days of the year. Obviously it’s important to meet deadlines. Technically, though, I can write at any time.
But I can’t have summer at any time. Right now we’re in the middle of a sunny spell, with more than a week of no rain or clouds. That’s why I forced myself to stay away from the keyboard and to put myself out on the back deck with DF, sipping tea, chatting idly and listening to the tree music.
*Our current percale sheet is coming apart, and DF was in the market for some soft cloth to help one of our apple trees. He cut a strip of the old sheet lengthwise and fashioned a sling to support a particularly heavy-with-fruit branch.
**Most of our tomatoes are in the greenhouse but we ran out of room; DF is a regular Luther Burbank when it comes to the success of his seed starts, and he invariably plants too many, just in case. They need hand pollination because we can’t be sure bees are coming into the greenhouse.
***It was still 80 degrees outside (and 77 degrees inside) at 6:30 p.m. This is considered really Alaska-style hot, and I don’t even own any shorts. (Well, one pair, but I left them at my daughter’s because they were covered with paint and caulk after we rehabbed the mother-in-law apartment.)
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Wow, you certainly painted a beautiful word picture, Donna!!! And it sent me looking at the video of “the world’s busiest seaplane base.” We think we have a short summer here in New Hampshire, but you folks have us beat. Enjoy your summer—I know I am enjoying it here—late sunsets, early sun rises, farmers’ markets, and today a huge strawberry festival in South Berwick, Maine.
It’s important to savor every moment of summer. When I lived in the Philadelphia/South Jersey area, summer got really old at some point but it would stay hot and humid sometimes into October.
Now whenever I hear the wind rustling the tree leaves, I will think of the tree music they make. I live in town, but someday I will have my dream home, a little cottage in the woods. Thank you for the tree music.
Your writing is so descriptive and so lovely I felt that I was sitting right there with DF and yourself and that I know what your yard and garden look like. I’ve always been fascinated with Alaska and although I have never been there, reading your words make me feel that I just spent an afternoon there.
Thank you! And hey, come on up: There’s plenty of room for everyone here.
DH and I often sit outside and listen to tree music too. We live in a rural area of western Washington state. Early sunrises, late sunsets, lots of green and bird song but it all ends way too soon so we enjoy it whenever we can.
I also love tree music, on the rare chance there’s an actual breeze! Mostly at the beach, which is accompanied by the smell of salty air – a personal favorite next to fresh cut grass and orange blossoms.
Down here we joke that we have 2 seasons….Summer and Winter…summer is WAY too long..starting April and dragging all the way to Thanksgiving sometimes. The real heat/humidity doesn’t even show up until late August/September.
Here we have three seasons: Last winter, this winter and next winter.
Remind me not to visit my dad in August and September!
This is a great reminder to all of us to literally stop and smell the roses
( or listen to the trees). I am older now and you hit an age when it becomes really clear what matters. Your article was really meaningful to me.
We all have things that need to get done. That is always true. We can save money and practice frugality, both very important. If we lose money, we can regroup and start to save it again. But time is different, precious moments lost to all matter of activity when those are gone, it cannot be recaptured. I often think that it is too simple, just take a bit of time to have a moment, just as you described, or to make a memory. I appreciate what you shared in your blog today. I try to spend time doing simple things with the people I love I never regret it. Happy 4th to all of you.
Donna,
When are you going to write a fiction book? Your writing is transporting. Amalgamate your friends and family into characters and write a story about the lives of women, their frugality, and their joy.
I like the sound and energy of an approaching Jersey storm. The Birch and Oak are definitely part of the band.
Cathy
Aw, thanks.